What is this? A rhetorical question that I never intended anyone to answer. It is made up of road trips and tear stained shoulders. It's the ability to look through virgin eyes and feel no pain. It is...someone elses ideal of forever. Let me cry for a minute please.
I can feel it now. The pressure to understand the unknown. The hurt of the unloved and the shadow of the sinner. Sins. It's all I'm made of yet I can taste your grace. Please rain on me in such a way that your wine will leave me lifeless and pure. It all seems like an illusion if you ask me.
You. Where is your understanding? If time is all we have now, you've wasted it on someone else. If I am the thread that locks in memories then I guess you've cut me free. Why then, am I...not free?
Rhetoric. It messes with my head.
Bitter. The taste won't leave me because I know that your intentions are flawed.
Prove me wrong, friend. This song will be sleeping on your doorstep...
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